A Matter of Propriety
by DJ Clawson
Summary: Jane gets a letter from Lydia, and Elizabeth starts asking all kinds of uncomfortable questions of the nearest men. P&P. WARNING: Implied slash.


A Matter of Propriety

By DJ Clawson

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Warnings: This is slash. It deals with homosexuality, if very abstractly. If you don't like, don't read. Or at the very least, don't be overwhelmingly surprised.

* * *

The spring came early to Netherfield, and the agreeable weather made traveling from Pemberley all the more pleasant. Elizabeth Darcy wanted to attend to her sister's confinement, and her husband was to put forth a good show for the various Bennett relatives instead of having to stay up north alone and in his own sort of confinement.

Jane was weathering everything exceptionally well, and could not understand the fuss, especially with two months left in her term. "I am not an invalid," she said rather firmly to her sister, but nonetheless did spend most of her time sewing and doing other stationary activities. Even though she was a virtual prisoner of propriety caught within the not-inconsiderable walls of Netherfield Hall, she would not quit to her room entirely, and Charles Bingley was not the sort of man to press her about anything. He was busy being a nervous wreck.

"I am so glad Mr. Darcy accompanied you," Jane said in her sitting room. "I'm sure his stoic nature will be a good influence on Charles. He frets more than I do."

"Even if he does not change him, the two shall at least balance each other out," Elizabeth said. "Darcy will look taciturn and say nothing, and Mr. Bingley will scurry about like a worried puppy, so there will be some equilibrium in the room."

Their giggles were interrupted by the servant. "Marm, a letter for you." She passed it to Jane and quickly disappeared.

"It's from Lydia," Jane said, instantly recognizing the handwriting.

"If the contents of the letter concern only money, please spare me the details," Elizabeth said, and went back to the baby's cap that she was attempting to knit – "attempt" being the operative word, for she was not known for abilities with a needle. She watched Jane's face go from the usual polite patient to a queer expression to outright shock. "What? What's she done now?"

Jane, fortunately, was not crying. She was just stunned. "I am at a loss. You read it, dear sister."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth had the courage to come down the stairs. It was not so much a matter of courage, she said to herself, as a matter of the appropriateness of the inquiry, but there was only so much two sisters could figure out for themselves, especially about Wickham. Though it was not a welcome subject on either side, she felt that if Fitzwilliam Darcy had thought he had married a woman who would let her curiosities go unsatisfied, he would have to learn of his grave mistake this morning.

"Mrs. Darcy," Bingley said, getting up from the breakfast table, probably less out of propriety and more out of his desire to be in motion. Since their arrival, his constant fettering about was more than noticeable. Darcy himself was much more comfortable with his wife stomping in and out of his rooms and merely nodded to her.

She held up the letter. "My sister in Newcastle has written a most disturbing letter."

Darcy wiped his face with a napkin, folded his newspaper, and replied very calmly, "Are we to make a guessing game out of this? Does she want more money?"

"No." She was a little annoyed at his levity, but then again, it did put off saying what she actually had to say.

"Has Wickham sold her their child to gypsies to pay a gambling debt?"

"No." She gave him a smirk. "You are not taking this seriously."

"As you are hardly hysterical, I cannot imagine the contents of the letter are all _that_ upsetting," he observed, and she had to silently admit he was right. "Charles?"

"Oh, I don't know Wickham that well at all –," and like Jane, he was much more reserved about seeing the evil in people. "I have had not had the pleasure of much acquaintance with him. I knew him briefly at Cambridge, but only through Darcy."

"Before the university noticed Wickham was taking no classes," Darcy clarified. "So we are at a loss. It must be another women."

"No ... but close," she said, biting her lip.

"He's taken two women. He has four wives stashed away somewhere, and is extorting each family for money separately. Lizzy, you will have to tell us."

"He has been caught ... with another man."

The silence itself was deafening. Charles Bingley, if he had been eating something at that exact moment, probably would have choked, because it seemed like he was going to do it regardless. Elizabeth turned instead to her husband, who was quiet, but that was normal for him. What wasn't normal was his utter lack of reaction; he probably would have gone right back to his newspaper if his wife wasn't standing there.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he countered. "Do you wish me to express sympathies for your sister's terrible situation?"

"I wish you to have some expression at the announcement of something that violates all of the strictures of normal society," she said. "But you look at me with complete indifference."

"I am not indifferent," Darcy said. "I am just not surprised. I have known Wickham my entire life. Very little he could do could truly surprise me."

The utter calmness with the way he said it was unnerving. Even Bingley was staring at him, but he still seemed unruffled. Elizabeth had to think of a way to counter this. "In all of your proclamations about Wickham, this is not something you have ever divulged."

"While I have made it perfectly clear how I feel about George Wickham and his reputation, I am still a gentleman and do not feel compelled to divulge his entire ... history. Or what I know of it, at least."

"But you think this is normal?"

"If 'this' is referring to the impropriety in question, no, I do not think it is normal. That does not mean it is not unknown."

Bingley added, "Certainly not in college."

Darcy suddenly gave him a very harsh look, then instantaneously turned back to his wife and said, "My apologies to your sister's situation, but there is nothing further I can say about the matter."

"No, I demand, you must enlighten me," she said. "How common is this?"

"Elizabeth – "

"You will indulge me," she said in a stern sort of voice that she usually used with him – but not around other people. Charles Bingley looked ready to duck under the breakfast table.

"All I will say on the matter," Darcy said, "is that in college, Wickham was at his leisure in all matters, even those that do not make proper public conversation."

"You are not doing much for my opinion of Cambridge, Mr. Darcy," she said. "You make it seem that one of our country's highest institutions of learning is nothing more than a bawdy house of looseness."

Again, Darcy and Bingely looked at each other.

"Maybe they should admit women," Elizabeth observed, "if this is what is going to habit without the feminine presence."

"Lizzy – "

"Look," Charles said nervously, "if you're all alone at University and you're really, really drunk, and your best –" But his line of conversation was abruptly stopped by Darcy kicking him under the table. Elizabeth turned back to her husband, who merely glanced at the newspaper, indicating that the conversation was over. "Perhaps I should go check on Jane."

"Perhaps you should," Darcy said, the newspaper hiding his expression from both of them, and Mr. Bingley bowed politely to his sister-in-law and then limped out of the room.

Elizabeth smiled and approached her husband, plucking the newspaper out of his hands. He had reclaimed his stony, impenetrable gaze in the meantime. "_What_?"

"Nothing, my darling," she smiled, and seated herself in Bingley's chair, the only other one at the table.

"Whatever you are scheming, it will come to no end," he said. "There is only so much I will say in my denunciations of Wickham. Besides, your sister seems to have taken that job away from me."

"I'm sure Lydia will weather this storm as she weathers them all – terribly," she said, because she could not restrain herself. "You know, I could write _her_ a letter asking – "

"There is nothing to ask about."

"Then it will merely be wasted paper, which I am sure will not be a huge financial burden on you –"

"Before you go smearing my good name," he said, finally looking at her, "I will preempt you and say that Wickham lasted but four months at Cambridge before the dean caught up with him and therefore has no idea as to any of my later activities there. So it is truly a waste of your time, unless you wish to get your sister further over-excited."

"You think you are so subtle," she mocked.

"I do make every effort. Unfortunately I have married someone of more than nominal intelligence. A mistake on my part, to be sure."

"To be sure." She picked up an untouched muffin, then put it down. "How many times?"

"..._What_?"

"Just give me a number."

"I cannot understand your curiosity in such an unsettling subject – "

"A number. Or you will spend the rest of Jane's confinement at Pemberley – _alone_."

When Darcy squirmed, it was a quiet sort of thing, barely noticeable, not like his friend. "Once."

"Just once?"

"I was ... inebriated. Considerably." He put his finger up. "And if you ever tell your sister, I will dispose of you to a nunnery in Spain."

"And marry who? Miss Bingley?" She rose, leaned over, and kissed him on his head. "I am fully capable of keeping secrets. Now I think I'd better run along before Mr. Bingley does his reputation further damage."

"Capital idea," he said, and returned to his paper. She walked off content, and equilibrium was restored.

Finis.


End file.
